


Going North

by Vasilisian



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bran goes north early, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-12 11:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19228045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vasilisian/pseuds/Vasilisian
Summary: Bran falls and wakes with visions in his mind, unknowing of a path that will now go untravelled. Together with his brother Jon, he must go north in search of the Raven and the salvation it promises.





	1. Fall and Rise

Bran groaned as another arrow flew wild, his brothers laughter only making his embarrassment worse. Jon clapped him on the shoulder, whispering advice into his ear, and the next shot was a little closer. Of course the one after that flew over the wall, drawing more laughter.

"It's alright Bran, just relax. Father is watching. Your mother too." Looking over his shoulder, he could see his parents staring down at him with patient smiles. How long had they been standing there watching him fail. Ears burning, he grabbed another arrow, concentrating as best as he could, but before he could take the shot, a different arrow shot past him into the bulls-eye.

Spinning around, he saw Arya standing with a bow in her hands. She grinned at him, curtsying mockingly. Tossing his bow aside, he ran at her and she ran away laughing. He chased her all the way to her room, but she threw the lock before he could open the door, leaving him to bang on the wood.

"I'm going to get you someday!" He shouted, but she didn't answer. Sulking, he went back to the practice range, where Rob scolded him for running off and leaving Rickon to collect his used arrows. Ser Rodrick came up to them, a grim look on his face.

"Lord Stark asks that you prepare your horses." Robb, Jon and Theon nodded, but Ser Rodrick was looking past them, at Bran. He didn't know why, but his brothers looked unusually serious and it made him swallow nervously and move closer to Jon.

"You too, Bran." Robb opened his mouth, scowling fiercely, but closed it after looking back at Bran. Ser Rodrick nodded at them and left. Jon wrapped his arm around him for a moment, then reconsidered and crouched down to meet his eye.

"It'll be alright Bran. There's nothing to worry about." But Bran knew his brother and Jon's face was tense. This wasn't a normal riding trip, that was clear, and whatever it was, both Jon and Robb weren't happy that he was being taken along.

**-–O--**

"Do you understand why I did it?" Bran finished buckling the strap before looking up at his father.

"Jon said he was a deserter."

"But do you understand why I had to kill him?" Bran wanted to shrug, but Father seemed oddly serious.

"'Our way is the old way?'" He quoted. Father nodded.

"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword." Bran considered his fathers words, then asked.

"Is it true he saw the White Walkers?" He'd heard stories about them, about the dead that came back to life. His father drew back, smiling faintly.

"The White Walkers have been gone for thousands of years."

"So he was lying." That seemed to make Father hesitate, before he answered.

"A madman sees what he sees." He walked away after that, but Bran couldn't help but wonder. The deserter hadn't looked mad, just scared. Although he supposed fear could drive people mad, he'd read that in a book once.

But what could scare a member of the Night's Watch so badly he'd go mad?

**-–O--**

Summer yapped as he tapped him on the nose, but the direwolf sat like Bran had been training him to do for the past few weeks. He'd grown a lot, already the size of a small dog and really smart as well. It had only taken Bran a week to teach Summer to follow, after which he'd moved on to getting the wolf to stay. He probably should have started with that, because now he had a wolf shadowing his every move.

Scrambling up the wall and over several roofs, Bran settled in, eyes trained on where the main road south trailed out of the forest. The king was supposed to arrive today and he wanted to be the first to see them coming. He'd even brought a snack in case they arrived in the evening, but even though the rider they'd sent ahead said they'd arrive just after lunch.

An hour later he could see the flags poking out just as the first horses broke out of the trees, followed by dozens more. Gaping at the amount of people, Bran got to his feet and started climbing down, being a little less careful that usual in his excitement.

"Brandon!" Landing on the straw roof of the stall, Bran grinned at his mother.

"I saw the king. He's got hundreds of people." Mother didn't share his excitement.

"How many times have I told you no climbing." Jumping down onto the ground, Bran tried to hide his smile, looking down at his feet as he promised her he wouldn't do it again.

"Do you know what? You always look down at your feet before you lie." Chuckling, Bran ran off at his mothers dismissal, Summer at his heels.

  **-–O--**

They had a feast that night, welcoming the king was as much hospitality the north could muster. Bran had to lock Summer in his room in order to keep him away from the feast, because the wolf kept sneaking in and eating from the floor. Slipping back into the hall for the third time, he smiled sheepishly at Robb, taking the seat his brother had kept empty for him.

"I locked the door this time. And closed the window. He shouldn't be able to get out now." He didn't like locking Summer up like that, but the southern soldiers weren't used to having a young wolf walking around and some of them had even drawn weapons on Summer before Bran could catch up to him.

"I think you might have overdone it when you taught him to follow you around."Groaning, Bran shoved his brother, who didn't even wobble at the push.

"Did you feel that breeze, Theon?" Theon laughed, winking at Bran, who slouched on the bench.

"Can't say I did, Robb. Maybe it was a weak one?" Bran grabbed his plate and got up,the two snickering at him as he sat down next to Arya instead.

"Oh come on Bran, it's just a bit of fun." He stuck his tongue out at Robb before tearing a piece from his chicken, watching with interest as Arya loaded up her spoon with food, aiming at Sansa. He laughed when she hit her in the face, Sansa's cry of shock easily heard over the roar of the hall. Robb came to carry Arya away as Sansa whined. Bran looked around before grabbing her spoon and chucking a tomato at as nickering Theon.

"You little brat!" Laughing, Bran jumped up from his seat and ran out of the hall. Footsteps clattered on the stone behind him and he pushed aside a tapestry. Opening the door behind it, he ducked inside just in time for Theon to run past. Panting and snickering under his breath, he closed the door and walked up the stairs, stepping out onto the narrow balcony hidden to one side of the hall.

He didn't notice the figure right away because the balcony had always been empty before, but froze when he did. A cloaked person was crouching at the end of the balcony, aiming a crossbow down at where he knew Mother was sitting at the head of the hall. Without thinking, he ran at them, boots clacking loudly on the wooden slats of the balcony.

The hood turned to face him, fear not having time to set before a hand darted out and grabbed him, throwing him over the railing in the same movement. His desperate grab nearly pulled the crossbow out of the persons hands, Bran just barely hearing a loud twang as he fell. Pain burst across his back as he hit the table below, stars taking over his vision, then it went dark.

  **-–O--**

Bran dreamed. First it was of Winterfell, covered in snow, black smoke rising from the hall. Then of a forest filled with strange animals, white and huge, that scared him even though he knew it wasn't real. A wall, towering over the landscape around it and stretching for miles in two directions. Then he was flying, moving through the forest north of the wall, until he came to a large field.

At first he didn't know what he was seeing, the sight too overwhelming, but then it sunk in that he was looking at people. Unnaturally pale, with icy blue eyes and torn clothing, they were unfazed by the cold. Shivering, Bran watched in mute horror as they started running,moving over the landscape in one massive swarm, trampling those who stumbled.

Between one moment and the next they were gone and he was floating in front of a weirwood tree, bigger than any he'd ever seen. A crow sat on one of it's roots, cawing. When it looked at him, Bran could see that there was a third eye above its beak.

"The deathless ones are coming, child. Soon your wall will fall and then they will come south, leaving none alive in their wake." A vision of Winterfell, overrun with the creatures from before, played in his mind as if by magic. He could see Father fighting side-by-side with Jon, Theon laying dead on the ground at their feet. Grey Wind, fully grown, surrounded but still fighting, tearing them to pieces while guarding a bleeding Robb.

Then the vision switched to the crypts, women and children screaming as skeletons broke their way out of their tombs. It changed again, showing cities he didn't recognize being overwhelmed by literal waves of them. On and on it went, until all he saw was snow and icy blue eyes, staring into his soul with terrifying emptiness.

"White Walkers. They're real." He whispered, back in front of the tree. The crow was there as well, speaking to him without moving it's beak.

"They raise the dead and enslave them to use as soldiers. Only by burning the bodies can you keep them from claiming it." Bran shuddered as the implications of what the crow was saying hit him.

"The more people they kill, the bigger their army gets." The crow nodded, shifting it's wings.

"Our time grows short, you are waking. Come to the tree, I will give you the power to defeat them. And the knowledge on how to use this power. Come north, child of Stark." Without warning, the crow flew at him with a screech, the world going black just before it hit him.

  **-–O--**

Bran's eyes shot open, breathing quick as he stared up at the ceiling. Stone, wooden beams, the small knife he'd once thrown up and was never able to get down again. Home. Rubbing his face, he tried to turn onto his side, frowning at the weird way his legs reacted. Pushing back the heavy furs and stroking Summer for a second, he tried to find whatever it was that kept him from moving them.

But all he could see were his sleeping trousers, pulled all the way down to his ankles instead of ridden up to his knees in a way they always where when he woke up. They felt oddly numb as well, like he'd sat on them for too long, but there was something strange about it. Patting his thigh didn't do anything either, he couldn't even feel it.

Wait, he couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel them. Panic rising in his throat, Bran frantically started tugging and hitting his legs, trying to get them to move, to feel pain, to do anything other than lie there. No matter what he did, they didn't react. He couldn't feel his hips either. His stomach was less numb, he still felt something when he pinched his skin between his nails, but none of that mattered, because he couldn't feel his legs.

Bran started screaming and hitting his thighs, Summer jumping up and howling with him, moving back and forth at the end of his bed. The door slammed open and Jon rushed into the room with his sword drawn, the sound of metal clattering against wood drawing Bran's attention when the older boy dropped it.

"I can't feel them! I can't feel my legs." Jon rushed over to the bed, grabbing Bran's arms to keep him from hitting himself. Then he pulled him into a hug, letting the younger boy cry into his shoulder.

"Bran. Oh gods be good Bran, I'm so glad you're awake." Bran sobbed loudly, clutching at Jon as if he were going to drown, Summer digging his cold, wet nose into his side.

"Bran!" Pulling back, Bran could just barely see his mother through teary eyes,reaching out for her with a sob. She ran forward, Jon stepping back to give her space. The two cried together for some time. One in relief, the other in grief and terror.

His room was cold and frost curled around the edges of his window.

 


	2. The Start Of Something Great

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran tells Jon about his dreams and leaves Winterfell.

Bran put down his book, staring at Jon until the teen looked up from where he was sharpening his sword.

"Do you believe in magic?" Jon frowned, Bran shifting nervously as he waited for his brother to answer.

"Father says magic is just something our ancestors made up to pass the time during the winter. But I don't know. The Wall is hundreds of feet tall, how would we even build something like that?" Hope flared in his chest and Bran patted the bed next to him excitedly.

"Right, exactly. This is going to going strange, but I think I had magical dreams after I fell." Jon had been nudging Summer out of the way to make room for himself, but he looked at Bran like he was crazy when he said that. Bran himself wasn't sure he wasn't, so he ignored it for now.

"I was flying, or maybe I was a ghost, I don't know. But I saw Winterfell from above, covered in snow. There was smoke coming from the roof of the hall, but I couldn't see inside, so I don't know where it came from. Then I was in a snowy forest, there were these beasts, they were massive, it was terrifying. After that I saw the Wall, or at least I think it was the wall. It was huge, hundreds of feet high just like you said."

Jon leaned forward, eyes shining with interest. Bran grinned. But it died when he remembered what he'd seen next. His voice became quiet.

"I flew over the Wall and through the forest north of it, until I came to this massive field? It wasn't really a field, it wasn't flat, but there weren't any trees. And it," Bran swallowed, eyes clouding as he grabbed blindly for Jon's hand," there was an army, stretching out for miles."

"They were dead, Jon. Remember when Father took us on a trip north and we found someone frozen to death on the side of the road? They had the same skin, white but with those dark blue splotches, the ones that look like bruises. And their eyes were the same color as blue ice, they were almost glowing, the color was that strong."

Jon had gone white, clenching Bran's hand.

"Bran-" Jon chocked out, but Bran couldn't stop. He'd be too scared to bring it up again later.

"They stormed Winterfell. You were fighting together with Father, Theon laying at your feet with a sword sticking out of his chest. Grey Wind was defending Robb, he was dying as well. The women and children were in the crypt, but the buried broke out of their tombs and killed them. Entire cities were being overrun and everything was covered in snow."

"But then it all melted away." Bran breathed in deeply, the image of the tree soothing the tight feeling in his chest. "I saw a weirwood tree north of the wall, bigger than any in the Godswood. A crow with three eyes sat on it's roots and it spoke to me." Bran squeezed Jon's hand, pleading with his eyes for his brother to believe him.

"It told me about the White Walkers,how they can bring the dead back to life as their slaves. It said if I come north to it, it will give me the power to stop them and teach me how to use it." Bran leaned back, still clenching Jon's hand as he looked down at his lap. "I think I'm going mad. I don't want to believe it's real, but I'm scared. It's gotten so cold, the frost stays longer each day, and- it could just be normal, Father always says winter is coming, but what if it isn't?"

Bran sniffed, prompting Jon to climb further onto the bed and pull him into his arms, Summer crawling up to his other side and cuddling against him. He cried into Jon's chest, the fear and stress he'd felt since waking up was too much to hold back any longer. The older boy held him close, rubbing his back with one strong hand.

–

The moment Jon entered his room, Bran knew something was wrong. He closed the door behind him with strained care and locked it. He took his usual spot by Bran's bed, having moved the chair next to it a few days ago. He didn't speak right away, and Bran, who'd learned that sometimes silence was the best way to get someone to talk, waited impatiently.

"There was another deserter. Uncle Benjen came down from the Wall to talk with Robb about it, since Father is in King's Landing. He took me and Theon with him for the execution," Jon rubbed his face, looking haunted, "and it was the same. Quiet, scared out of his mind and the only thing he could talk about was White Walkers." Bran blanched, meeting Jon's shaken gaze with horror in his eyes.

"They were real." Jon closed his eyes at Bran's whisper, brow tense.

"My dreams were real, the White Walkers are coming. One deserter talking about the Walkers is one thing, but it's two now.

"We don't know that, it might just been a fever-"

"A fever that makes men convinced White Walkers, who everyone thinks were wiped out thousands of years ago, killed their friends? Right around the same time I have strange visions of those same things? Does a third person have to be executed for the same before you believe it? What about four?" Jon flinched, running his hand through his hair. He grabbed a chunk, tugging fitfully, then let go.

"It's insane. The White Walkers were supposed to have lived thousands of years ago, they're practically a fairy tale these days. But-" He stopped.

"But it's gotten colder quick in the past few weeks. Two men, members of the Night's Watch, broke their oaths and deserted within that same time, talking of White Walkers. I had dreams, visions, of White Walkers killing every last human in Westeros and covering the entire country in snow." Jon slumped as Bran lined up the facts, glancing at the window, where frost still clung to the edges despite the midday sun.

"They're real. And they're coming." Bran clenched his jaw at Jon's quiet whisper, nodding determinedly.

"And if we say the dreams are real, then so is the raven and its promise. There's hope, I just-" Have to travel hundreds miles to the Wall, get past it somehow, then travel even further through rough terrain to a tree in wildling territory. Without being able to walk. Jon had thought of the same thing, mirroring his despair, but he also had determination in his eyes.

"You can still ride. An even-tempered horse that's easy to control should be fine, and big as well, so we can take plenty of supplies." Jon jumped up, muttering about all the things they'd need for the journey, but all Bran could think about was Robb.

"We need help. I trust you, but you're fourteen and I'm can't even run if we get in trouble. The journey between Winterfell and the Wall is dangerous enough, it'll only get worse once we're over it. Wildlings, those beasts I dreamed of and the Walkers themselves. Food might be scarce, I don't know how many animals live in a place that cold."

Jon nodded, taking his place next to the bed again. "We'll have to tell Robb. I don't know if he'll believe us though."

Bran shrugged. "It's not like we have any other choice with Father and Mother in King's Landing. He might not be lord just yet, but he's still in charge."

–

Robb looked between his two brothers,settling on Jon after a few moments. "This is insane. You're telling me White Walkers are real, based on the accounts of two traitors, a dip in the weather and dreams Bran had while sleeping for six weeks? And now you want to go north, over the Wall, to a tree you don't know the location of, because a raven with three eyes promised Bran the power to stop the Walkers."

Bran closed his eyes, hiding the hurt he felt at being dismissed so easily. He knew Robb had a lot to do right now, keeping Winterfell running in their parents absence, but he'd hoped his oldest brother would at least think about believing them.

"Look, I don't have time for this right now. Winterfell is not easy to keep running, no matter what you two seem to think, so I need you two to leave. Jon, take Bran back to his room." Tears stung his eyes and he refused to at Robb. Jon knelt in front of him, helping him onto his back and they walked out of the room without a word. The door fell closed behind them. For a moment they stood silently in the hallway.

"We knew it was a possibility." Jon tried to sound unaffected, but Bran could hear the hurt in his voice.

"Maybe we are being stupid. It sounded silly when he put it like that." Jon shrugged, or at least tried to. It was difficult to do with a seven-year-old on his back.

"He also thinks our ancestors actually managed to build the Wall on their own. I don't care what anyone says, it's impossible for humans alone to build something that big." Bran didn't say anything, burying his face into Jon's hair. The curls weren't the same as Mother's, but they were close enough that he could almost imagine it was her.

–

Bran waited with his heart in his throat, hands buried in Summer's fur and wearing his best set of traveling clothes. Jon had left to prepare the horses, which they'd left for last to make sure no one would notice their plan. It was stupid and dangerous and a million other things, but Bran had dreamed of the raven again a few days ago and Jon had decided that they had no choice. They'd go to the Wall, with or without Robb's help.

How they were going to get past it neither of them knew, but they had six-hundred miles to come up with a plan. They'd talked about how they would escape the riders Robb was bound to send after them. Bran eventually suggested that they ride hard and then hide somewhere for a day or two after, similar to how Summer hid from Grey Wind after annoying the other wolf. The other direwolf had spent two hours running all over Winterfell while Summer relaxed under Bran's bed.

His hands clenched as the door slowly swung open, Jon slipping in as silently as he could. He hurried over to the bed and lifted Bran onto his back in a practiced motion,supporting his legs with his arms. Bran held as much of his own weight as he could and reached out to close the door behind them after Summer got through.

Two horses were waiting outside the service door Jon took them to and he helped Bran onto the smaller one. They shifted away nervously from Summer and Ghost, who had appeared out of the fog when Jon got to the horses, but stayed calm.Grabbing the reigns, Bran smiled at Jon, a spark of excitement flaring in his chest despite the serious situation.

Climbing onto his own horse, Jon set it off at a walk, Bran's horse following without prompting. Twisting in his saddle, Bran could see the dark walls of Winterfell, lit up only by the occasional torch. If all went well, it would be months before he saw it again. But he needed to do this, and with Robb's refusal, this was the only way.

Turning back, he looked at Jon's back for a few seconds before looking beyond at the Kingsroad stretching out into the distance. Their journey had begun.

 


	3. Spread Your Wings (Run For Your Life)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran and Jon run into some trouble on their way to the Wall.

They'd planned for a lot of things, including a rogue band of wildlings attacking them. Somehow neither of them had thought that Robb might come after them himself, which wouldn't be a problem if he hadn't taken Grey Wind with him. Summer was the one that saved them, having heard Grey Wind howling in the distance and breaking away to lead the other direwolf on a merry chase around the landscape.

He couldn't outrun him, none of the other wolves could match Grey Wind when it came to speed, but Summer had always been good at hiding his scent. Ghost also ran off at Jon's urging to distract Robb and lead him into the forest, hoping to convince their brother that they were staying off the main road.

Bran clenched his teeth, trying his best to stay in the saddle as his horse broke out into a trot, eventually calling out to Jon when he couldn't take it anymore.

“Jon! We need to slow down, I'm going to fall off.” He tugged at the reigns and his horse slowed down instantly. Jon pulled up short ahead of him, waiting for Bran to catch up before nudging his horse back into moving.

“They have to be at least twenty miles behind us, but we can't afford to slow down right now. Others would rest and wait to follow, but Robb is going to push his horse until it can't go further to catch up with us.” Bran scowled, slapping his leg.

“Jon, my legs are flying all over the place. Any longer and I'm going to fly out of the saddle.” Jon growled, hand clenching around the hilt of his sword as he looked back over his shoulder. They couldn't hear any howls yet, so they hadn't gotten within ten miles yet, but even the slightest break meant Robb got closer.

“We'll get off the road and head for the river. There should be a point where it's shallow enough to cross by horse, it'll throw Grey Wind and any dogs they have with them off our scent. Do you think Summer would still be able to find us?” Bran bit his lip, thinking back to all the times Summer was waiting for him when he came down from climbing, no matter where he went up.

“He'll find us, one way or the other. I've never managed to lose him, no matter what I did.” Jon nodded and turned his horse off the road, riding diagonally towards the river. Bran followed, throwing anxious looked over his shoulder now and again. When they got there, they followed it north for a while, ignoring the one bridge they came across until they found a place safe enough to cross.

Jon looked across the water, then got off his horse and walked over to Bran.

“The water is high enough that your legs will get wet if you let them hang in the stirrups.” He explained as he slid Bran's boots out of the metal rests, letting them hang to the side as he raised the stirrups as far as they would go. Sliding one foot back in, he checked to make sure it would stay and wouldn't cut off Bran's circulation before moving on to the next one.

That done, he climbed back onto his own horse and directed it toward the water, letting it drink a little before urging it forward. Bran kept his own horse at the bank until Jon was halfway across, repeating the process of letting the beast get used to the moving water. He yelped as his horse stumbled mid-way, one foot sliding out of the stirrups and making him fall sideways, but he clung to the saddle long enough for the horse to get out of the water.

“Bran!” Jon's hands grabbed him, pushing him back onto the saddle. Both boys took a moment to catch their breath, Bran's arms shaking from holding himself up. Jon readjusted the stirrups back to their original length, resting his hand on Bran's leg for a while before he smiled quickly and got back in the saddle.

“Come on, lets go find a place to hide in the forest. Hopefully they'll think we kept going north. The horses can't keep this up much longer.” It would give them time to rest as well. Bran wasn't used to riding for hours on end and Jon was looking ragged, with large bruises under his eyes. But the teen soldiered on, finding them a place to camp and caring for the horses while Bran prepared their dinner.

**–-O--**

Summer and Ghost drew the search party north, ahead of Jon and Bran, allowing the two to cross the river once more and cross the Kingsroad. Jon didn't want to use the road anymore, since there was a chance they'd run into Robb and the rest while they were on their way down. So instead the plan was to travel parallel to the road on the west side.

It went pretty well for the first three weeks. They settled into a routine, with Jon taking a day here and there to go hunting for small game. The few rabbits and foxes he brings back were a welcome change from the dried meats, potatoes and cheese they'd been living off. Bran also proved that the visions he has through Summer were real when he was able to hide them from the search party. They'd been heading south and were combing the forest on their back.

“That's useful. Can you control him, or just watch?” Bran shrugged, keeping his eyes trained north-east. Summer and Ghost had been heading back as well during his last dream. He hoped his wolf's keen nose would allow him to find them. He missed Summer and he could see Jon relax every time he mentioned that Ghost was okay.

“I don't really want to control him, to be honest. It's nice to run, but it would feel wrong to take his body away from him. Besides, he makes for a much better wolf than I do, I don't know the first thing about tracking and hiding my scent.” Jon grinned, drawing even with him and rubbing his head.

“We're doing pretty well for ourselves, don't you think? This is the easiest part, there's plenty to hunt and the weather is good. But still, for two boys as young as us, it's still pretty impressive.” Bran grinned back, popping another blueberry into his mouth. They'd found a bush full of them yesterday and after making sure they were actually blueberries and not something else, had filled a pouch to the brim.

**–-O--**

Of course things had to go wrong. Bran huddled deeper into his cloak, staring at the little patch of gray sky he could see out the window of the abandoned windmill. Jon was outside somewhere, having gone to try and hide the horses from the band of wildlings that had rode into town. Leaving the windmill was dangerous, but if they found the horses, it would give away that there was someone else in the forgotten town.

He heard a shout, followed by horses neighing. Bran gritted his teeth, heart pounding in his chest as he strained his ears, trying desperately to hear what was going on. He startled when he heard a cry. The voice was young, too young. Jon.

“Let me go!” His breathing quickened, a soft moan building up in the back of his throat. His brother was in danger and Bran couldn't do anything. Could he?

Bran sat back, focusing on the feeling of being in Summer's mind. The inside of the mill disappeared. Summer was running after Ghost and Bran recognized the forest. He howled, speeding up and taking the lead. Within minutes the two direwolves burst out of the trees, Ghost jumping at the man pointing a sword at Jon. Bran pounced at another wildling with a bow, tearing into his neck. Blood poured down his throat, the taste both making him gag and thirst for more. He shook a few times before dodging out of the way of an arrow.

Between Jon and the two direwolves, the small group fell quickly. Bran had Summer nose at Jon, licking some of the blood off his face.

“Summer stop, you stink.” Bran pulled away, whining sadly. Then Ghost pushed him aside and tackled Jon. Satisfied that his brother was okay, Bran let go of Summer's mind, coming back to the mill with a gasp. It didn't take long for the door to slam open and Jon rushed inside with Summer and Ghost on his heels.

“Bran! Are you okay, did they find you?” Bran stared incredulously at his brother, who was splattered in blood and wounded.

“I'm fine, they didn't have time to look around. But you're bleeding.” He pointed at the cut on Jon's arm, which Summer took as permission to snuggle into his side. Bran idly scratched behind his ear, the wolf rumbling happily, but Bran knew how quickly a dirty wound could get infected. He'd sat through an hour-long lecture from Maester Luwin about the dangers of leaving wounds untreated and he wasn't going to let Jon die of an infection out of stubbornness.

“Grab my pack, I'll treat your wound. Are you hurt anywhere else?” Jon caved under Bran's concern, sitting down next to him and letting his younger brother clean and wrap the cut on his arm, as well as the scrapes on his hands from being pushed to the ground. After that, Bran waited for Jon to check on the horses, which had miraculously survived the battle. Then they settled down for sleep, the sky having fallen dark sometime after all the excitement.

The Wall was close now and when they reached it, the next leg of their journey would begin.

 


	4. The Way Is Shut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran and Jon arrive at the Wall, but getting past turns out to be more complicated than they thought.

Nightfort was a grim place. Bran shivered as the wind howled outside, huddling closer to the fire Jon had built in the dust-filled kitchen hearth. He'd heard dozens of stories about this place, horrible ones. Back then, he'd listened eagerly, pleading for more even if they gave him nightmares. It was different being here, with old blood-stains dried into the wood and the wind blowing through broken windows.

“I know it's not very nice, but it's as close to Castle Black as I dare to get. Besides, it's the oldest castle along the Wall, there's bound to be some kind of passage around here that leads through the Wall.” Jon smiled at him, shadows under his eyes and a scar curving down from his forehead through his brow and onto his cheek. The wildlings had left their mark on him.

Bran clenched his fist, tasting blood in the back of his mouth and running down his throat and admitted that they'd left their mark on both of them.

“It's just a bit dark, that's all. I'm glad we can have a fire though, it helps.” It also meant they could actually cook at least part of the doe the wolves had hunted down yesterday. Part of it was already roasting over the flames, Jon turning the spit every now and then to cook it evenly. The rest they were planning on cutting into strips and smoking tomorrow.

“How are Ghost and Summer doing? Are they heading back yet?” Jon poked the hunk of deer meat, taking it off the fire and started cutting thick slices off onto the metal plates they'd brought. Bran breathed in deeply and slipped into Summer's mind. The direwolf was walking slowly towards the Fort, something heavy and bloody held in his jaw. Ghost was next to him with two foxes, smelling of deer. Bran drew back and took the plate Jon held out to him.

“They went hunting. I think they caught another deer, but they ate this one themselves. Ghost has a pair of foxes, but I don't know what Summer is bringing back. It smelled kinda like deer, but different.” Jon nodded appreciatively, digging into his food with a groan.

“I swear, deer has never tasted this good before.” Bran agreed, tearing into his meal with relish.

“Are we going to smoke the foxes as well?” Jon shook his head, taking a large bite and talking with his mouth full.

“We don't know how long it'll take to find a passage and we need something to eat in the mean time. I don't want them to do too much hunting though, someone will see them soon and spread the word about two direwolves being spotted close to the Wall. The last thing we need is Robb coming north with another search party.” Bran nodded, groaning and laying a hand on his chest when he swallowed too big a piece.

“Oi, careful. I didn't haul you six-hundred miles north for you to choke on a piece of meat.” Bran threw a rude gesture at his brother while grabbing his water skin and taking small sips until the painful feeling faded. The older boy howled with laughter, just barely keeping his plate from falling into the fire.

“Where'd you learn that one, a whorehouse?”

Bran blushed and scowled at his brother. “No! I saw Theon do it once.”

“Just don't let your mother catch you using that, I don't think she'd take it well.” Bran snickered, falling silent when the door creaked open. Ghost stepped through with the two foxes, Summer following and dragging a strange animal by its neck.

“What _is_ that?” Bran held his plate away when Ghost dropped the foxes and came to investigate, pushing the massive wolf away so he could stare at what Summer had caught.

“A musk deer, I think.” Jon set his own plate down, ignoring when Ghost snatched his remaining meat off it and went over to inspect the animal.

“ _That_ is supposed to be a deer? It's got fangs!” It did, two of them curving down from its top jaw.

“I don't know why, I just know that's what they're called. I saw one while hunting with Father once, although that one was a lot smaller.” He patted Summer's head and grabbed the musk deer by it's legs, dragging it to where the remains of the doe lay.

“We'll smoke that one as well, but I'm going to need help butchering them. Are you up for learning how to clean and strip deer tomorrow?” Bran took a sip of water that failed to wash away the taste of blood and nodded determinedly.

**–-O--**

“There has to be something! It's the oldest castle along the Wall, the birthplace of the Night's Watch. How can there not be a passage through the Wall?” Jon kicked a rotten chair, braking it. Bran watched from his place by the fire, surrounded by what little books Jon had managed to salvage from the library. Most of them had been ruined by water damage or rats, but there wasn't much else he could to to help.

“They abandoned the castle, it might be that there was one but they closed it up.” Jon kicked another chair, then started breaking one of the tables apart. The pieces were sized to fit in the hearth, so Bran wasn't too concerned that his brother had finally lost his mind out of pure frustration. It was day four at The Nightfort and Jon hadn't been able to find any sign of a passage way through the Wall yet.

Carefully picking up one of the books, Bran eased it open, keeping one hand ready in case the pages detached from the spine. Once and never again, half the bloody things had crumbled when he'd tried to pick them up. Thankfully the old glue held and something must have protected it from the rats, because there was barely any damage.

Bran started reading to the sound of Jon methodically turning a large table into firewood. He realized it was a history book about The Nightfort two pages in and slowed down to make sure he didn't miss anything. Turning to the next page, he was greeted with an illustration showing the floor plan of the castle. Shifting so the firelight lit up the page, he traced the lines with his finger, looking for any strange designs or dead-ends.

A particularly loud crack distracted him and he looked up to see Jon with two halves of the tabletop at his feet, a broken axe in hand.

“Could you be a little less aggressive? I found a floor plan.” Jon dropped the axe and strode over, crouching next to him to try and get a look at the book. Bran tilted the book so he could see, pointing out several spots he'd seen that were worth investigating.

“So far I've found two dead-ends with no obvious purpose, a big gap between two rooms that's either a secret passageway or closet and what looks like a well, which is supposed to be in this room.” He tapped the circle in the room marked 'kitchen'.

Jon looked over to where the well was supposed to be, but there was just a wall. Bran looked at it, back down at the floor plan, then back up.

“It's fake. The door to the rest of the castle is centered on the map, not all the way to the left.” Jon walked over to the wall and knocked on the stone. It wasn't silent like it should be with stone. Rather, both boys could hear the sound of hollow wood. Bran looked at Jon with wide eyes and pointed excitedly at the broken axe.

“Well go on! It's over two hundred years old, it can't be that strong,” Jon didn't even bother with the axe, stepping back and kicking the wall. It buckled under the force and threw up a cloud of dust as it fell over, whatever support it'd had long rotten through. Bran coughed, bringing his arm up to cover his face, but Jon just walked over to the newly-revealed well.

He threw a stone down it, but rather than hearing a splash, a loud thunk came from the darkness.

“Was that wood?” Bran shrugged, having barely heard the sound. Jon turned one of the chair legs into a makeshift torch and held it over the well.

“I think I see something. It looks white, might be weirwood.” Bran frowned. Weirwood? At the Wall? They followed the old ways here and cutting down weirwood trees was considered blasphemy since there were so little left. Grabbing the history book, he started flipping through it, coming to a stop at a gold-leaf decorated page. The Night's Watch vow was inscribed on it, but what drew his attention was the little note at the bottom that said every Watchman was supposed to memorize the entire vow for emergencies.

What emergencies could reciting their vows be useful for?

“Hey Jon, I think I found something interesting. Apparently, back when The Nightfort was still the main castle, members of the Night's Watch were supposed to be able to recite their complete vows from memory. _For emergencies_. Do you think it's some kind of spell?” His brother didn't answer and Bran looked up to find him gone. Ghost was standing next to the well, whining softly.

“Jon? Are you there?” Bran called out, voice cracking with sudden fear. He'd have heard it if Jon climbed down the well, wouldn't he?

“Jon! This isn't funny, answer me!”

“It's alright, I just went to have a look.” His brother's voice echoed out of the well, Bran spotting the taut rope tied to a stone support pillar a moment later. He sagged against the wall, pressing a hand to his chest over his pounding heart. The sound of scraping came from the well and Jon's head popped out from over the rim.

“There's a weirwood door with a face carved into it. I can't get it open.” Bran looked down at the book again, then back up at a dusty Jon.

“I think I know how to open it, but there's a problem. The Night's Watch oath is the password, but I'm pretty sure that you need to be an actual member for it to work.” Jon's hopeful expression died, but Bran wasn't done. One of the other books had mentioned something that he'd dismissed when he'd first read it, but it might come in useful now.

“Anyone can swear themselves into the Watch, it's not like swearing fealty to a lord. As we don't tell anyone about it, it won't be legally binding, but I think that the magic will consider it official. Which is good and bad. Good because it means we can get through the door, bad because it'll consider you a member of the Watch. It's a life-long dedication with death being the only retirement and I don't know if or how it punishes the ones that break the vows.” Jon rolled his shoulders, fingering the hilt of his sword.

“Can't I just obey the oath?” Bran was shaking his head before he even finished.

“Just leaving the Wall would be breaking it and I can't get to the raven tree alone. Especially since we can't bring the horses.” Ghost nudged Jon when he cursed loudly, trying to comfort his master.

“It's probably not be that bad. There were deserters back then as well, so it doesn't just kill you instantly. It might recognize that you need to leave the Wall for the good of the realm, which is what you're swearing to do.”

“Thank you Bran, that makes me feel a lot better.”

“Hey! I don't like this any more than you, alright. I'd rather not lose my brother to some stupid pledge to a wall of all things. I want us to go north, get rid of the White Walkers and their army, then return home safe and sound.” Bran glared at Jon, hands tightly holding the book. They stared each other down for a minute or two, then Jon relented.

“Alright. I'm sorry for snapping. It's just frustrating that we have to do this alone.” Bran relaxed as well, loosening his grip and smoothing the crinkled pages.

“You're the one doing more of the work, it's unfair that you have to do this as well. But we must do this, we _must_ go north. By the time Robb or the king react, it'll be too late.” Jon started pacing with Ghost on his heels and it would look funny at any other time.

“Okay, let's do it. What do I have to do?” Bran held out the book, Jon taking it carefully.

“Just read out the oath. Actually meaning part of it would probably help.” An hour later, Bran was sitting at the bottom of the well, untying the rope Jon had tied around his waist. The direwolves would have to be let down after Jon opened the door, there wasn't enough room for them. It was cramped already just with the sled they'd built and their supplies.

Pebbles rained down as Jon climbed into the well, stepping carefully over the bag he'd stuffed with smoked meat and the last of their dried fruit. Jon took a deep breath and recited the oath. A tense moment passed and then the face on the door almost seemed to move. The door creaked, swinging open on its own. A blast of icy wind hit them in the face.

A speck of light shone at the end of the tunnel, beckoning them north.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did some minor editing that I wasn't able to do before.


	5. The Great Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran and Jon have made it Beyond the Wall, but the journey to the cave is more dangerous than either of them know. The wildlings are only the start of it.

Bran squinted into the snowy forest, wondering if he'd imagined seeing something move behind one of the trees. He couldn't see either of the wolves, which worried him. The two hadn't gone far since they'd crossed the Wall, recognizing that this was dangerous territory, but they'd slipped away at some point. Hopefully they were still close, he didn't like their chances against an unknown enemy without them.

Another flash of movement, this time to the right, and now Bran was sure they were being followed. By what he didn't know, but it couldn't be anything good. In an instant he was looking through Summer's eyes, not taking control yet, which turned out to be a good choice, because the wolf was stalking two humans. Wildlings, going by the furs, one armed with a bow while the other carried a sword. He could sense Ghost somewhere to the left, but Bran was reluctant to enter the wolf's mind.

Pulling back, he leaned back against the pack, looking at Jon upside down. His brother was walking through the deep snow, breathing deeply despite the way the cold had to be stinging his lungs. They were supposed to stop for a break soon, but he had to take care of the wildlings before then. Gritting his teeth and closing his eyes, he reached out, looking through Ghost's eyes just long enough to see two more wildlings. Then he moved further, searching for a specific animal he'd read about.

He'd never done this before, but it felt natural, _good_ , to stretch out his mind as if casting a net. And there, at the edge of his range, he found what he'd been looking for. It was different enough from a wolf that he needed a few seconds to get it moving, but then it started running with deceptive speed. Soon he slowed, raising his nose into the air. Wolf, an unfamiliar smell to this creature but which Bran knew well, and human. Lots of human.

Bran jumped to Summer for a second, just long enough to leave a suggestion in the wolf's mind, doing the same with Ghost, and then nearly two thousand pounds of snow bear thundered out of the woods. The archer spun around, raising his bow, but Summer knocked him to the ground, tearing his throat out. Bran heard screams from the other two as Ghost attacked, but he knew there were more.

Charging past the swordsman, he jumped over a fallen tree onto a group of four. Two were crushed by his landing, the others falling with a swipe of his paw. Bran moved around the tree and walked over to Jon, bowing his head to reassure his brother. He had his sword drawn and stood over Bran's body, guarding him.

“Bran?” The bear nodded. “I didn't know you could control other animals.” Neither did he. Summer and Ghost slunk out from behind the trees, staying low to the ground and snarling. Bran stepped away from Jon, keeping his movements slow. He could abandon the bear if he needed to, he was confident the two direwolves could take it down together, but it felt wrong to let it get hurt or killed after he used it to help them.

“Ghost, heel! Summer, you know Bran, you know he does this to you sometimes. Let him go.” Jon raised his arms, trying to calm down the wolves as they moved to stand between him and the snow bear. Bran lowered his head, exposing his throat, and then shambled away. He set the bear to a run for a mile, pulling back after he was sure the beast wouldn't turn back.

Jon was leaning over him when he opened his eyes, Summer and Ghost at his side.

“There you are. Did you know your eyes turn white when you do that? Completely milky, it's strange. Not bad-” he hurried to reassure, “-just a bit odd.” Bran smiled tiredly at that, head slumping back. Jon leaned forward and laid a hand on his shoulder, catching his eyes worriedly.

“Whoa! Bran, what's wrong? Are you hurt?” He tried to raise his hand to wave Jon off but found that he was too weak to lift it.

“I'm tired. Controlling that bear was a lot more difficult than Summer.” Jon didn't look convinced, and insisted on taking a break. Bran argued that the smell of blood and the bodies would attract predators, and that they should at least get out of the immediate area.

“They might not be the only wildlings. And I won't be able to help next time, not like this.” Jon had the look on his face that he only got when Bran was right but he didn't like it. It was part pride, mostly annoyance. Bran didn't care how annoyed his brother was, as long as it got them away from the eight dead bodies cooling in the snow.

**–-O--**

Jon growled, sounding eerily similar to the wolf at his side. “We'll have to go around. Give me the map.”

“We'll have to go around the east side for sure, the river will be too wild otherwise.” Bran handed the parchment over to Jon, who took it and started tracing his finger over the route they'd been following. It was a simple map, showing only the simplest geographical markers, but it was all that Jon had been able to find in either the library or their father's study.

“Why isn't it marked? The villages I can understand, they're small and mostly abandoned, but you said this place had over sixty men.” More than a dozen women as well, but Bran didn't want to think about how those had been treated. From what little he'd heard, the 'lord' of the settlement had fathered them and was now taking them as lovers.

He wished there was something they could do to help, but they were just two boys with direwolves. Against sixty men in a fortified hall with surrounding huts, they didn't stand a chance. The Night's Watch might be able to do something, but somehow Bran had the feeling they already knew about the place.

“Right. We'll start heading east and go around. There's no telling if the river will be too deep to cross, but just in case it is, I want to aim north again after we get a clear path and head straight for it.”

**–-O--**

Bran stared with wide eyes as Jon waded into the river once more to help Summer across, clad in nothing but his trousers and boots. Ghost was already on the other side, huddling next to the fire Bran had started building the moment Jon dropped him off. The now fifteen-year-old should have gone into shock after his first time across with Bran slung over his shoulder, his lips blue and his fingers red with early frostbite.

But aside from his constant shivering and chattering teeth, he looked no worse for wear. That didn't stop Bran from setting up his bedroll and putting stones into the fire to heat them up. He also collected some snow into their dented kettle and set it in the fire, fishing the last of their tea out of the food pack. Helping with crossing the river he couldn't do, but he only needed his hands to care for Jon.

Summer surged out of Jon's grip when they reached the other side, shaking himself off and darting over to the fire, huddling against Ghost and whining pitifully. Bran lifted the kettle out of the fire with a branch and threw the leaves in, taking out the rocks after. Jon started stripping the moment he got to his bedroll, drying himself off quickly with the rag Bran held out. Grabbing more, he wrapped them around the stones and slid them into the bottom of the bedroll.

“Get in. Move as much as you can, you need to keep your blood moving.” Jon dived into the bedroll, groaning at the warmth. Bran scooted closer and started rubbing his legs through the padded cotton, stopping only to pour the tea in a cup and helping Jon drink it. They didn't talk about it, even when they came across a second river and Jon did the same thing. Sometimes Bran wondered, but mostly he was too busy being grateful.

**–-O--**

The Raven showed up three weeks after they crossed the Wall. It stood out against the snow with its black feathers, but the third eye above its beak left Bran shaking. Jon wasn't much better, stumbling and falling to his knees at the sight.

“It's real. It's actually real.” The bird cawed and flew off, heading north-west, and Jon followed as best as he could through the deep snow. It stayed close to them over the next week, always showing up when they lost their way in the increasingly rugged landscape. And then, one day with the sun low on the horizon, Jon stopped with a gasp.

Bran twisted around, losing his breath at the sight. Branches reaching out in a massive canopy, leaves the color of rust, the weirwood tree looked even bigger than it had in his dream. Jon pulled him closer, past dark rocks up to the base of the tree. There was an opening there and the raven was sitting in it. It cawed loudly, shifting it's wings, and then hopped inside.

They'd done it. They'd made it to the tree despite everything. Despite his lack of legs, despite Robb, despite the Wall, despite the wildlings and even despite nature itself. The raven would teach him, would give him power so he could defeat the White Walkers, and then they could go home. Laying his hand on Jon's back, his brother stepped forward, and together they disappeared into the darkness.

 


	6. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran and Jon have made it to the cave of the Three Eyed Raven. Bran starts training with the Raven, leaving Jon to explore the tunnels under the weirwood tree.

Bran blinked, staring into the darkness as he waited for his eyes to adjust. “He's been waiting for you.” Jon drew his sword and pointed at the shadows where the voice had come from, Bran taking Summer over on instinct and coming up next to him.

“Who's there?” Jon demanded, the past two months putting weight in his voice he hadn't had before.

“The First Men called us the Children, but we walked these lands long before them.” She steps forward into what little light filters in through the entrance of the cave, and Bran bares his teeth in a silent snarl. That's why he hadn't been able to smell her. The creature was short, almost child-like in size, but looked like a tree had come to life. Leaves grew out of her thick hair, which was twisted into a series of braids, and he had the feeling that if he touched her skin, it would feel like bark.

“Come. He has been waiting.” She stepped back into the shadows, footsteps the only sign of her presence. Jon lifted him out of the sled onto his back, the passages under the tree too narrow for the sled. After a moment, Bran let go of Summer, looking over Jon's shoulder with his own eyes. Down they went, deeper and deeper until they came to a cave.

Across from them sat an old man on a throne made of weirwood roots. Bran didn't understand what he was seeing for a moment, then he realized that some of the roots were going _through_ him. The one coming out of his eye is the most disturbing one, followed closely by the ones twisting in and out of his leg.

“You're the Three Eyed Raven.”

“I've been many things, but yes, I am what I am. You have finally come before me, Brandon Stark. It has been a long journey, and we will begin your training soon, but first you must rest. The answers you seek will be revealed in time.” It's one remaining eye closed, the figure slumping in his throne.

Bran did his best to push away the indignation at being dismissed after all they'd gone through to get here, but Jon didn't hesitate to turn around and follow the small being when it called them. Throwing one last glance back at the Raven, a flash of white drew his eye. Looking down at the man's feet, Bran thought he saw a skull, but then the mist that pooled in the sunken floor rose to obscure it.

**–-O--**

Jon didn't know what made him bring his sword, but still he found himself exploring the tunnels under the tree with his sheath buckled around his waist. Bran was training with the Raven in the cave, but he'd gotten bored with watching over them after the first twenty minutes of silence. They just sat there with their eyes closed, the Raven barely even breathed at times.

He could occasionally hear the Children move through the tunnels around him, their bare feet slapping on the stone. It unnerved him, but the further down he went, the less they followed. He wasn't too worried about getting lost, Bran would send Ghost to come find him after he finished with training, or track him through Summer if he had the energy for it.

Something cracked under his foot. Jon froze, breathing shallowly as he listened for footsteps. When nothing came out of the shadows, he dared to look down, the flickering light of his torch dancing over an old bone. Crouching, he brushed the dirt off it, but his fingers bumped against something else as he uncovered the long bone.

A hipbone this time, cracks spreading out from a split on one of the wings. Holding it closer to his face, he frowned at the split. It almost looked like something had been jammed through the bone.

“We were at war with the First Men for thousands of years.” Jon dropped the bone and jumped to his feet, torch nearly falling from his hand. One of the Children was standing behind him, taller than the first that had led them to the cave when they first arrived.

“Their bones lay scattered across the entirety of this land, many of which have been buried by time as the ages passed. But the magic that protects this place from the world keeps the same from happening here.” Jon looked down at the bones, and now that he was looking for it, he could see more scattered along the tunnel.

“Why don't you bury them?” The Child shrugged at his question, moving past him to pick up the hipbone.

“There are few Children these days, we have no reason to go this far down the tunnels. Our peace was brokered because we were all drowning in blood, not because we'd forgiven them for invading our lands. We see no reason to give them the respect of burying their bones.” She trailed one finger over the split, something old and furious on her face. She spoke as if she'd been there, and Jon realized he had no idea how long the Children lived.

Maybe she had.

**–-O--**

Bran was waiting for him as usual, but the scowl on his face made Jon pause.

“Is it not going well?” He honestly had no idea what Bran and the Raven did while they were together, spending most of his time either resting, training with his sword, or exploring the massive tunnel system. So far it had been going well, Bran coming back tired but satisfied, so this was new.

“It's going fine.” Bran snapped, turning away from Summer when the wolf tried to cuddle close. Jon frowned, setting aside his sword and scratching Ghosts head. There were deep bruises under his younger brother's eyes and even from here Jon could see the slight shaking of his hands.

“I'm serious, you look terrible. Did something go wrong?”

“I said it's fine! This is a little more complicated than walking through snow, Jon, anyone could do that.” Bran spit the last words, and Jon felt his temper snap.

“If it's so easy, why didn't you do it yourself? Oh right, you can't, because you're a cripple. Don't go acting all high and mighty now that you're learning magic, you'd still be stuck in Winterfell without me.” Jon had always been close to Bran, had grown to know him even better over the past two months, and he knew exactly what to say to make it hurt.

Bran flinched back, hands clenching over his legs. Summer stood up to bare his teeth at Jon, but Ghost stepped in front of him and snarled at his sibling.

“Well, you should be thanking me! This way you might actually be remembered as more than just a bastard.” Jon breathed in sharply through his nose, stumbling back from his brother.

“You...” The part of him that loved his brother smothered the rest of that sentence before it could come out, Jon turning away from Bran and stumbling out of the small cave. Ghost followed him with one last snarl at Summer, and Jon didn't care where he was going, as long as it was away from Bran. His feet took him down a familiar path down, deep under the tree.

Minutes passed as Jon wandered further and further until he was past the point where he'd always stopped before. He hadn't thought to bring a torch, stumbling over the uneven ground, Ghost steady presence at his side the only thing keeping him from falling to his knees. But still he kept going, something in his chest crying out that he needed to get away, that something was going to hurt him.

Ghost's growl was his only warning before his foot met air and he fell, rolling down a steep path for a breathless moment. Then just as suddenly he rolled to a stop, Ghost coming up behind him and digging his nose into Jon's neck. Pushing the direwolf away, he got to his feet, squinting into the shadows around him. There was a tiny bit of impossible light coming from somewhere above despite how far down Jon knew they had to be, and it was enough for his eyes to make out general shapes.

And when he realized what he was looking at, Jon stumbled back and nearly cried out in horror. Ghost growled and pressed up against his leg, but he was barely aware of it as he stared at the Children entangled in the roots of the weirwood tree. There were dozens of them, young faces twisted and hidden in shadow. Curious despite himself, Jon moved further into the cave, hand clenched around the hilt of his sword.

One of them was set apart from the others, roots more carefully placed compared to the mess of the others. They wrapped around his wrists and ankles, with five thick roots coming out of it's chest in a spiral. Jon approached carefully, laying his hand on Ghosts head to quiet the wolf's growl. When he got within few feet away, it's eyes snapped open. Flinching back, Jon drew his sword and pointed it at the Child as it opened it's mouth.

“Child of fire, do not be deceived by the one that watches. Kill the Three Eyed Crow and prevent the awakening of the White Walkers. Do not let him claim the wolf child. Trust not the Children who aid him, they have been blinded by their hatred and seek the destruction of all Men for their sin of harming our woods.” The roots behind the Child surged and wrapped around his neck, silencing him.

Jon stumbled back as the cave came alive, slashing at a root that tried to creep onto his foot. He turned and ran after Ghost, taking a running jump at the steep incline he'd fallen down. For a second he thought he'd slip, boots scrambling for a foothold, and then Ghost grabbed his vest by the shoulder and pulled him up.

“What was that?” He risked a look behind but couldn't see anything, could only hear the sound of creaking wood. The gaze of the male Child burned in his mind, it's warning weighing his heart down with dread. He remembered the bones, the fury on the Child's face as it looked at the split, and suddenly it wasn't so difficult to believe that they'd been tricked. The Child had mentioned a wolf child, that had to mean Bran. And if his warning was true, that meant Bran was in danger.

Steeling his will, Jon got up and started running up the tunnels. No matter what he'd said, Bran was his brother, the one that had stood with him ever since he'd been a boy, and Jon had brought him here. Jon would make sure Bran would get home safely, no matter the cost.

 


	7. Walk With Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go horribly wrong and the only thought on Jon's mind is to rescue Bran. A newly discovered ability will help him fight the forces that seek to destroy humanity, but there is one enemy that he cannot fight for his brother.

It was as if a spell had broken.

Jon ran as fast as he could, ignoring the bones and mummified limbs he could suddenly see poking out of the wall. A screech came from behind, footsteps against stone, drawing a burst of speed from him. Something flew over his head and hit the ceiling, fire blinding him as it exploded. He put his arms over his face and ran through it.

The heat didn't burn as much as he thought it would, – child of fire, a voice rasped– but Jon barely had time to think about it as more screeches came from around him. He drew his sword and swung it just in time to block a dagger, the monster wielding it only just recognizable as a Child. Sharp teeth stained with red, too-wide yellow eyes swimming with rage.

“Filthy human, we'll grind you up!”

“He found the traitors, kill him!”

“Don't let him reach the throne room! The master isn't ready yet.”

Screams came from all sides, high- and low-pitched at the same time in a way that made his head pound. Ghost snarled from a corner ahead of him, followed by a horrible cry of pain from a Child. He thrust forward while the Child in front of him was distracted, sword stabbing into its skull with disturbing ease. The creature collapsed and he continued, cutting down one that was about to jump onto Ghost's back.

Together they ran up the sloped tunnels, dodging the explosives that the Children threw without care for the roots of the tree. At one point Jon caught one, just as it was about to hit him in the face and threw it back, much to his shock. It took out two Children, who exploded with twin screeches. He looked down at his glove to see that it had burned a hole clean through the leather, although his skin was untouched.

Child of fire.

A howl came from ahead, a call for help that sent Ghost into a frenzy. The massive beast charged through a group of Children, ignoring the slashes of their daggers, leaving Jon to catch up as best as he could. Eventually he missed one of the explosives, a small tap on his back the only warning before he was thrown forward. Jon cried out, head bounding off a rock and sending stars dancing across his vision, but he was aware enough to tear his burning vest and shirt off.

The Children were staring at him in shock, one even dropping their dagger, and he didn't hesitate. Bolting past them, letting the sound of howling lead him to the Raven's cave, he only hesitated a moment at the sight of Bran suspended from the ceiling by roots before he started carving his way through the crowd of Children to where Ghost and Summer were trying to get to the Raven.

The god still sat on his throne, his sole eye open and staring at Bran with sick intent.

**–-O--**

Bran couldn't believe this was happening.

The Raven had shown him the many things about the history of Westeros, but mostly about what the First Men had done to the Children of the Forest. He'd said it was because Bran needed to know who he was defending, that it was the Men that had driven the Children to create the White Walkers in the first place out of desperation. Bran had watched in horror as the White Walkers got out of control of the weakened Children and turned on their masters.

It had left a sour taste in his mouth to see the Children forced to ask their hunters for help in order to fight this new threat after seeing all that they'd suffered, but seeing the White Walkers with their armies of undead in action had shaken him to his core. They'd been deadly under the command of the Children, but their ability to raise and control the dead had turned them into an undead plague once loose.

“You've seen what they did to the Children. This country was a peaceful place before the First Men came, and now look what it's become. Endless wars for a crown drenched in blood, assassinations and deceit thriving in the many shadows they create. I do not do this out of hate, Brandon Stark, but out of pity. They are suffering, the entire land festering like an open wound. It would be mercy.”

Bran shook his head, staring at the Raven with tears in his eyes. His arms were chained to the floor behind him, forcing him to kneel, and even now he couldn't help but love that he could feel how it hurt his legs. The Raven smiled sadly, cupping his face with a wrinkled hand. Bran didn't lean into the touch, but he didn't flinch away either, and guilt broiled in his stomach.

“I know how difficult this is for you. The same empathy that made you stand up for your brother is staying your hand now, and I do not blame you for it. Some people are able to do what others can't, that is the way the world is. But this must be done, young wolf, no matter how you feel. I do not wish to pass on my powers by force as it would kill everything that makes you Brandon Stark, but I will do it if you do not bow your head.”

He wanted to, everything in him was screaming at him to give the Raven what he wanted to, but Bran hesitated. Because as much as he wanted to let the Raven in, a part of him was baring it's teeth at the man. Bran thought of his brothers, Jon and Robb. Steady people even at their young age, determined to do the right thing. He thought of Rickon, who was as wild as the wolf that ran at his side. Of his father, who he'd only see bow to one man. Of his mother, her steady strength even far from home. Of Arya and her brashness, of Sansa who could be teased into showing her fire.

In the end, it wasn't much of a choice.

“No.” He looked the Raven in the eyes. “I am Brandon Stark, third of his name, a wolf of the North. Starks only bow to those they respect, and I can't respect someone that wants to kill millions of people for the sins of their ancestors.” He glared at the Raven. “Even if I could accept you murdering all of mankind, I love my family too much to allow the same fate to befall them. You showing me how they would fight and die to the White Walkers was what convinced me to come here in the first place.”

The Raven stared at him impassively for a moment, then all kindness disappeared from his eyes. The hand on his face shifted and grabbing his jaw, fingers digging into his cheeks. Leaning close, he curled his lips back over his teeth, and finally Bran could see the cunning madness curling in his eyes.

“Then you will die, little wolf, along with the rest of your people.” He let go of Bran's face and slapped him, sending the small body crashing to the ground. Bran grunted, the shackles pulling painfully at his arms. Then something slammed into him with incredible force and all thought fled from his mind. Screaming in agony, he begged for it to stop, for someone to help him, please gods let it stop.

He reached out with what little magic he had, and something answered. A voice whispered to him, shining somehow, giving Bran enough relief from the pain for him to understand what it was saying. What he heard scared him as much as the Raven did, but he could feel his mind crumbling and so grabbed onto the strand it offered him with all his might.

“No! You have no power here, you flaming bastard!” The Raven screamed, wrapping his hands around Bran's throat. But before he could strangle Bran, he yanked them back with a howl. Bran gasped for breath, shaking body curled up on the empty floor of his mind. The Raven stumbled back snarling as Bran sat up. The shackles didn't open, but he found that he could slip them from his wrists with ease.

Sitting up, Bran glanced between his hands and the Raven, that same glowing voice still whispering to him. It gave him the power to stand up and walk up to the Raven, to mirror him and wrap his hands around the old god's throat. The flesh started bulling and melting away from his touch, but Bran didn't flinch, staring into the Raven's eyes and watching the life fade from them. The voice whispered it's approval and drew back, leaving Bran feeling hollow and cold.

**–-O--**

Jon nearly stumbled when the Child he'd been fighting suddenly froze, staring past him as something that almost looked like horror twisted her face. His sword finished it's arc and carved her from shoulder to her hip, then he spun around. All the other Children were also frozen, not reacting even when Summer tore the head off one of them. Jon looked up at Bran, who was still held by the roots, then at the Raven.

The roots holding its body were burning away. Unease curling in his gut, he backed away from it, keeping an eye on the Children. A horrible wail came from the body as it started shriveling up, black ice chunks falling out of it's mouth and shattering on the stone floor. Wood creaked above him and Jon looked up in time to see Bran falling from the roots.

Dropping his sword, he sprinted through the Children and dived for the small body, getting his arms under him just before he hit the floor and rolling. The rough stone floor scraped his bare back to hell, but he didn't pay it any mind as he searched Bran for injuries. There was only a small amount of blood coming from his nose that stopped as he watched.

“Bran?” Jon brushed the hair away from his face, seeing Ghost and Summer come up behind him facing the Children. The small creatures weren't moving and any thought of them was chased away when Jon saw Bran's eyes slowly open.

“Ow.” Bran groaned, curling in on himself. Jon looked around for something soft to lay him down on to see that the Children were fleeing. Weirdly enough they didn't head for the tunnels that led out from under the tree, but rather went further in. Worry stabbed his heart, prompting him to scoop Bran up into his arms and walk out of the cave to where they keep their things, stopping only to pick up his sword.

After gently laying Bran down, Jon started packing up their supplies hurriedly, praying that the sled was still at the entrance of the tunnels. Slinging the pack onto his back, he picked Bran up together with his bedroll and made for the exit. He didn't know what would become of the Children and frankly, he didn't care right now, because Bran was barely responding despite being awake.

Tying everything onto the sled took a nerve-wrecking amount of time as he tried to make sure Bran was as comfortable as possible, using his bedroll as both padding and cover from the cold. Then he laid his brother's cloak over him as well, along with some of the furs they'd taken from the wildlings that had attacked them. Once he'd done everything he could, Jon grabbed the handles of the sled and pulled it out into the cold.

Bran groaned as the sunlight hit him in the face, Jon looking over his shoulder and stopping when he noticed that the younger boy was finally coming out of his daze.

“Are you alright?” Bran blinked, staring up at Jon, and for a moment he worried that whatever the Raven had done to him had left permanent damage. Then his eyes cleared.

“Jon. I'm fine enough, I guess. In a lot of pain, my head feels like a giant split it open, but alive. What happened?” Ghost's ears flicked back and the wolf twisted to look at the entrance of the cave with a silent snarl.

“Never mind, let's get out of here first. Do you think they'll follow?” Jon hummed, keeping his eyes on the cave as he picked up the sled and started dragging it away, back south.

“I think they can't, I saw them flee further down after the Raven died. But I'd rather be safe and leave this place as far behind as I can.” There was a moment of silence, Jon looking over his shoulder to see that Bran was nodding faintly.

“With the Raven dead, they can't wake the White Walkers, so we did what we came for. Even if it wasn't in the way we intended.” So the trapped Child hadn't been lying. Jon thought of fire exploding across his chest, but only feeling the faintest of heat, catching something that burned through his glove but left his hand untouched. Child of fire, it had called him.

He'd have to ask Bran about that later. First they had to get away from this cursed place, and so Jon grit his teeth and plowed through the snow, heading south. Heading home.

 


	8. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran and Jon return to Winterfell, but find that certain people aren't ready to welcome them with open arms.

The people of Winterfell had mixed reactions to their return. There was a general sense of relief especially when it came to Bran, but they were confused as to why they left in the first place and what to do now that they were back. Uncle Benjen had escorted them home along with two members of the Night's Watch, leaving them at the gate with an ominous wish of good luck.

Bran swallowed, feeling the eyes of the people on his back as Jon rode their shared horse into the courtyard. It was conspicuously empty, Robb, Arya and Sansa being the only ones present. The look on his eldest brother's face was stony, and it made Bran feel like a disobedient child despite all he'd gone through. Jon stopped the horse a few yards away from the trio and got off, leaving Bran in the saddle since there wasn't a chair.

That stung more than the cold expression did. Robb hadn't forgotten, Bran knew he'd have thought of it when he planned this, and still there wasn't any place for Bran to sit aside from the muddy ground. After a moment he realized that's what he wanted, that this was punishment for running away. Anger surged in his chest and he glared at Robb in a way he'd never done before.

“Robb-” Jon started, but a raised hand cut him off.

“Do you have any idea the state you left Winterfell in when you snuck away like that? I had to pull twenty men out of bed and tell them that my _idiot_ brothers ran away in the middle of the night. Then you sent Summer and Ghost to wreak havoc, panicking our horses and sending the dogs into a frenzy. For two weeks. By the time we got to Castle Black, half of them had been sent home because their horses were ready to go mad with fear.”

“Returning to Winterfell empty-handed was one of the most humiliating experiences of my life. I am Lord with Father in King's Landing and yet I couldn't catch two boys, my own brothers, with twenty men and five tracking dogs. They lost what little respect they had for me.” Bran could imagine it very well, he'd seen the ugly side of Men with his own eyes in his visions.

“And then I had to send a letter to Father and Mother, telling them of my failure and the fact that their sons are now loose in the north. I prayed every night that you wouldn't find a way past the Wall, that you'd return home _safely_ , but you didn't. Months without word, without any idea if you were still alive, you could have been eaten for all I know, or killed by wildlings.”

“When that raven came from Castle Black, I nearly fell to my knees with relief. Against all odds, you'd survived. But I've had a long time to think about this, a month to be exact, and I realized that I can't just welcome you with open arms.” Robb closed the distance with Jon and his voice was thick with tightly controlled anger.

“What the hell were you thinking?! You were fourteen when you left, Bran is _crippled._ You could have been killed, _would_ have been killed if you hadn't gotten lucky. He's a boy, I didn't expect much from him, but you should have known better.” Jon flinched, shoulder taking a familiar set, and that was too much for Bran.

“That's enough! I understand why you're angry, you have every right to be, but you're acting like the past five months haven't been an absolute hell! We had to worry about food, about shelter, keeping injuries from getting infected, and that was before we even got past the Wall. It got worse after that, because then we had wildlings to worry about, not to mention we could freeze to death if we weren't careful.”

“Then why did you go?! Don't give me that crap about the dreams, you can't honestly expect me to believe the White Walkers were real?” Bran growled, and it seemed Jon knew what was going to happen, because he stepped away from Robb.

Grey Wind walked out from the shadows he'd been hiding in right up to Bran. The massive direwolf bowed his head, then turned to face Robb and bowed again, this time tucking one front paw against his chest as he did. Bran watched through Grey Wind's eyes as Robb's gaze darted between his wolf and Bran's body on the horse. Deciding he'd made his point, he returned to his body.

“What was that?” Bran felt an odd sense of pride that Robb's voice didn't even shake in the slightest.

“Warging. I watch through the eyes of any animal I want and control them. I also have the greensight, but this isn't the place to talk about this.” He looked Robb in the eye, pleading him to take the unspoken request for privacy. He knew that even if it looked empty, there had to be people watching this all happen, and the full account of what happened wasn't something he wanted to spread around.

“Come, we'll talk in my study. Jon, I trust you can carry Bran?” Jon was already helping Bran off the horse, handing the reigns to a stable-boy that had come out of nowhere.

**\--O--**

“Tell me everything that happened, from the beginning.” Bran shared a glance with Jon, silently asking him who should speak first. He sighed when Jon inclined his head at him. Taking a deep breath, he started talking, beginning with his dreams.

Eventually Jon had to take over when Bran couldn't keep going, exhausted from the journey. And out of the two of them, he knew more about what had happened in the cave.

“Children? I thought they were a fairy tale.” Jon grimaced, reaching up and touching his lower back.

“Would have been nice if they were. They're deadly with a dagger, but the worst part are these explosive seeds they can throw. I was lucky there were so many in the cave during the last fight, they couldn't use them in fear of hitting each other.” Neither of them mentioned that Jon had still been hit with more than one and had come off with only a few scratches from being thrown. His true heritage was something they weren't planning on revealing just yet.

**\--O--**

In the end it took three hours, several arguments, another demonstration of Bran's warging and a full recount of Bran's visions of the war between the First Men and the Children of the Forest for Robb to be satisfied. Robb had gone silent after Bran finished speaking, and he was nervous despite his exhaustion.

“Okay.” Jon choked on his sip of water, staring at Robb with wide eyes. Bran couldn't blame him, he was doing the same thing.

“Are you sure the Raven is dead? Because if he has the ability to wake the White Walkers, we need to ride north immediately and finish him off if he isn't.” Bran sniffed as a great weight lifted off his shoulders. There was something incredibly comforting about having Robb on his side. His oldest brother, when convinced, was the best person you could have at your side.

“He's not dead, I don't think he can. But he's gone from this world.” Robb frowned at him, demanding an explanation.

“Well, the Raven is a god, or at least part of one. The voice that helped me burn him away said he was a facet of the Great Other that broke off and gained it's own will hundreds of years ago.” Even Jon stared at him, Bran remembering too late that he hadn't told him about what the light voice had said.

“But he's gone.” Robb repeated, apparently deciding he didn't want to know. Bran nodded. That he was sure of.

“Good. Now I just have to come up with an excuse that people are going to accept. We'll tell Father and Mother the truth, of course.” Bran blanched and closed his eyes with a groan. Robb chuckled and Bran peeked through his finger to glare at him.

“Don't worry, I'll take care of that. Go to bed, both of you. You look terrible, I think Jon's hair might actually be frizzing.”

**\--O--**

Robb came up with some tale about sending Bran and Jon to the Wall for their protection and that the failed capture attempt had been intended to make it look more legitimate. Since someone had actually tried to kill Bran while he'd been sleeping, it wasn't hard to convince the court to accept the lie. It hadn't been difficult to come up with a second fake attack to justify them going north of the Wall, Robb claiming that the hunter he'd charged with providing for them had died protecting his brothers.

Bran was honestly impressed that Robb had been able to come up with a reasonable explanation for their harebrained dash across the north and five-month absence overnight. Neither Father nor Mother would believe it, of course, since there was no way Robb wouldn't find some way to tell them that they were actually safe. But it was enough for the people of Winterfell.

Then everyone forgot all about it when word of Robert Baratheon's death reached them. Two months later a raven came from King's Landing that said Father had retired from his position and would be returning to Winterfell together with Mother. Bran whooped when Jon told him the news, waking Summer from his nap and making the wolf huff.

“Oh shut it, I'm allowed to be excited.” Within the hour everyone had heard the news, and the castle prepared with great delight for the return of their lord. Robb had looked wry when Bran asked him if he'd miss being a lord, admitting that while it would take time to get used to the change, he looked forward to not being so stressed all the time.

**\--O--**

The feast was loud and long, continuing into the early morning as the people celebrated Father's safe return. They were too drunk to notice when Ned slipped away, nobody paid any mind when three of the Stark children disappeared a two hours in and the quiet departure of Lady Stark went similarly unnoticed. The five Starks met up in Father's study, who didn't look surprised to see Jon and Bran there.

“Robb didn't send you away.” Jon shook his head, refusing to look at Mother. She was glaring at him already and Bran wanted to tell her right then and there who Jon's real parents were. But they'd agreed with Robb that there was a certain order that they needed to stick to, and Jon being the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen was at the bottom of that list.

**\--O--**

It didn't take as long to convince Father and Mother about the Raven as it had with Robb, probably  _because_ they'd already convinced Robb. They knew that he hadn't believed in magic since he was a kid and that there had to be some truth to it if he wasn't saying anything to deny it. Mother was smart though, Bran could see something spinning in her eyes the moment Jon repeated what the trapped Child had told him.

“Ned, you lied to me, didn't you? Fifteen years ago, when you came home from the war with a babe in your arms and claimed it as your own.” Bran wished he could leave the room as Mother glared at Father, fury like he'd never seen before in her eyes. She looked ready to grab a sword off the wall and run him through with it.

“Cat, I- yes. I had to protect him, Robert would have killed him.” Robb backed away from the two adults, sharing a look with Jon. Together they spun around, Jon picking Bran up while Robb opened the door. They closed it behind them just in time to hear the shouting begin.

“He probably should have told her sooner.” Bran nodded silently at Robb's observation, winching when a particularly loud scream came from behind the door.

“The feast is still going, we could just go back and leave them to it.” Jon suggested. Robb nodded and nearly ran back to the great hall, Jon on his heels.

**\--O--**

It took a while for Catelyn to warm back up to her husband, and she could be found glaring at him on occasion even months after getting back from King's Landing. The people gossiped about what he'd done to earn her ire, but none of them even got close to the truth. After all, it was pretty difficult to image that Jon Snow, the darling bastard of Ned Stark that looked after his little brother Bran when assassins threatened him, was actually the legitimate son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen.

But while down south thing went to hell under Joffrey's rule and eventual assassination, the North stood strong. They stayed out of the war that started, even when Myrcella took the throne a few years later with the help of her husband  Trystane Martell and an army from Dorne.

Bran did help his father craft a letter politely requesting for the North to be declared an independent country in return for not revealing her true heritage as a bastard product of incest a few months later. The newly-crowned queen agreed just as politely, although she did send an alliance and trade agreement along with her letter.

After all, it was good to have friends when the Mother of Dragons wants your throne, even if she's currently busy conquering her way across Essos and freeing slaves.

 


End file.
